


Pianist

by DeerHearted77



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeerHearted77/pseuds/DeerHearted77
Summary: An AU where Ashe and McCree are pianists. Ashe has to come to terms with the fact that her and McCree will never be a couple.
Relationships: Echo/Jesse McCree, Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Jesse McCree
Kudos: 10





	Pianist

Ashe slammed her hands down on the piano, her cheeks streaked black, making her look like a raccoon. She swore she’d never have it end up in tears, but she ran out of ideas of how to dull the pain when screaming hadn’t suffice. She picked up her wine glass, and with a screech of anger, she threw it in Bob’s direction. It exploded into the wall, a rainfall of glass showering the floor with bleeding shards.  
Bob said nothing, programmed to say nothing. His only duty to serve Madame Ashe. He took a second before proceeding to lower his hulking metal body to the floor and start cleaning the mess. He heard metal tinkling and looked at his hand. Some shards stuck into the rims of his metallic casing, and for a moment, only a moment, he wondered what it felt like to bleed, he wondered if this is how Ashe was feeling.  
“It’s not good enough!”, Ashe shrieked. Bob turned his head slightly towards the direction of his master’s voice and wondered if this is what pain felt like, desiring to serve his master on his own accord, but unable to give the comfort of a living being. “It’s never good enough!” she cried again and rammed her hand against the wine bottle, sending it crashing onto the ground with a shatter. More blood stained the floor. Bob could only stare as the bloody wine pooled around the bottle and set into the floorboards.  
Ashe paced the study room, floorboards creaked under her heavy footfalls. Paced was more like running. Her hair gave a violent wave, like she was out in the wind as she abruptly stopped in front of the piano. Now the strong, earthy aroma of the red wine was staining the atmosphere crimson and Ashe’s stomach begun to swim almost faster than her thoughts. “Uhhhlg….Bob, do something…”, Ashe groaned as she sunk onto the piano stool.  
Ashe covered her face into her hands as the whirring of Bob’s limbs signaled his obedience to his Master’s will. Bob’s head rotated to look at Ashe again. His thoughts often drifted to human emotions and how they felt. Some robots were programmed to feel emotions like sorrow and pain. Bob? Well, being curious was a start. Could a robot learn to feel? Again, wondering was the way of mankind. A small step into a big world. Would Bob feel the emotion of bitter regret if he ever could feel the way Ashe felt right now? It was unusual to see someone like Ashe’s emotions of anger to be transferred into agonizing sorrow tinged with the rage deep into the ocean of her defeat.  
As Bob tidied up the mess, Ashe spoke again. “I created him.” Her voice was hoarse, and her mascara branched off into more smeary lines, fresh tears staining her drained cheeks. Her face was never delicate and round, but her cheeks were evidently more hollow, and no matter how much eyeliner Ashe used, nothing could erase the dark hour-rimmed circles under her eyes that counted how many hours of sleep she missed. “I’m the reason for his success. You know that, right, Bob?”  
Bob and Ashe sat in the suffocating silence. After an eternity that only lasted a moment, Ashe puffed out a silky breath of air, surprising for a woman in her state. Only a woman like Ashe could pull off such an elegance. Both of them knew the answer, though. Bob could only agree. That was his purpose. But, was it just programming? Bob really, truly felt like he agreed. Felt. Programming?  
Ashe really did mold the supremacy talents of Jesse McCree. She took him under her wing at a young age. Only two years apart, but Ashe composed masterpieces on the piano at the young age of five. At ten, she took eight year old McCree as her apprentice. Twenty-nine years later and pupil surpassed teacher. Ashe was left to stumble after McCree, silently applauding him with a stoic facade of shame. When she couldn’t keep up, she was left on the floor, scraping chipped sonatas and torn ballads into a jumbled crescendo of failure.  
Did McCree leave her? Or did she leave herself? The truth was covered layers deep in wine, force, and two feet less of hair that had her forget the real answer. However, truth isn’t the solution she wanted. She just wanted to pin the blame on someone, and her selfish pride wouldn’t allow her to pin it on herself. Never herself. A foolish, absurd, waste of her time. The thought of her being the one to blame would only cross her mind under muffled, steamy sheets of struggled, strangled sleep.  
Sleep was hard to find, so she ditched the obstacle and the idea of her being fault with it. The only good that came out of her lack of sleep is that Ashe wouldn’t have to dream anymore. No more visions and illusions that she was still at the the top of her prime. That his smile still resonated her entire being. That his admiration made her heart beat a little faster. That when his eyes lit up at her pieces, her whole soul lit up. Oh god. Disgusting.  
She wanted McCree to become the best pianist he could be. So why was she so cold and empty? The north winds brought her hollow corpse warmth and rooms crowded with faces that had names attached only made her feel more lonely than she had been isolated in her study room.  
She looked at the chestnut framed picture perched on the cover of her grand piano. Like all other glass that had a place in the room, the slate of protection was vandalized, too. However, chunks of glass hadn’t fallen from it’s shape. Just cracked. A white spiral of nicks covered the face of the handsome man McCree. His eyes once shone like a warm fireplace. Now his face wasn’t even visible behind the white, sharp mask.  
Warm tears like a mid summer rain rolled down her cheeks again. Anger deflated into misery every time she remembered his face. His image was burned into her memory for the rest of her life. Picture perfect. She just wanted to see him again, to be proud of him, to be happy for him. Why couldn’t she? Was it the fame of his success?  
Or was it because at his recitals he always brought that tall, cloud white feminine figure with him? Not even a real human being. Not even real love she could feel. So why did Echo look so happy in McCree’s arms? Why did it make Ashe’s heart dim a little each time they stood close? Why did the shine from McCree’s eyes drift to Echo’s when he played his compositions? And why, why did it grab his attention? Didn’t the the pride and adoration in Ashe’s eyes burn brighter than any flame? Why was the fire doused for Echo?  
Why didn’t she tell him sooner?  
Ashe’s world finally collapsed under her as she finally opened up her eyes. She fell onto her knees onto the hard wooden floor. The repulsive, impossible truth made itself become a possibility as she emptied a colorful platter of her courses of meals onto the splintered floor. It was her fault all along.  
She loved Jesse McCree.  
Ashe would never be McCree’s wife. Echo would.  
And it’s all her fault.  
For the first time in her life, Ashe realized she destroyed the family she had created with McCree.  
Ashe heaved herself to her feet and dragged her slumping body out of the study room. Bob blinked and looked at the picture of McCree. His green eyes scanning every inch of the frame. He rocketed to his feet at the crack of a rifle.  
Bob ran out of the room to see the commotion that caused Ashe to fire her rifle.  
Bob finally knew what pain felt like.  
He regretted ever wanting to feel the emotions of mankind.


End file.
